


pervicacia

by skuls



Series: Post Season 11 Universe [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s11e10 My Struggle IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 20:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15469764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: Scully's pregnancy post season 11.





	pervicacia

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the anon who wanted a canon pregnancy fic (who's messages i accidentally answered TWICE because i'm an idiot; i'm sorry, anon). this story runs parallel to proelium, since that's pretty much my post msiv canon, so there's less jackson in this since it's happening at the same time as the events of proelium. 
> 
> i tried to make this fic realistic in terms of what i think mulder and scully would be feeling about this pregnancy, but i also tried to make it happy, in a sense. my hope is it falls somewhere in between.
> 
> tw for mentions of pregnancy loss.

Normally, Scully would make a doctor's appointment for something like this. She doesn't trust store tests, a superstition that goes back to the IVF procedure, her fear of a false positive, false hope. But now false hope doesn't even seem like a factor, because she doesn't want this, it's impossible, they're both too old. You can't be given a miracle twice, and they've already had their miracle. Their son, who Scully desperately wants to come home. That's all she wants.

It seems so impossible that she could be pregnant, now, after all this time, but the symptoms all add up. She ignores them for two straight weeks, running water in the bathroom while she retches so that Mulder doesn't hear, trying to hid her fatigue and nausea, waving if off as allergies. Until she can't ignore it anymore. But she's too frightened to call the doctor. She  _ should _ call the doctor, she's friends with most of them, for God's sake, but something in her physically stops her. She doesn't want Mulder to find out; she doesn't want anyone to find out, not yet. Not until she knows for sure. This feels like her weight to bear, her burden. 

So she goes to the Walgreens a couple miles from the house and buys a box of pregnancy test. She takes five in the bathroom, locking herself in the largest stall and lining them up on top of the toilet paper holder. Two minutes, the box said, so she waits for two minutes, sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest and her face in her hands. 

Everything could hinge on this, these five little pieces of plastic. She already knows they're going to keep it if she's pregnant. There is no option where they don't keep it. She can't give away another child. She can't  _ lose  _ another child, and that's what scares her more than anything, that if she is pregnant there's a higher risk of losing the baby. She couldn't bear that. It'd break her, break Mulder. 

She hopes that she's not pregnant. It would be so much easier if she's not pregnant, if this is just a scare she never has to tell Mulder about. 

But a small part of her wants to want this. When she thinks of Mulder with children, Mulder holding their son, Mulder being the father he'd never gotten to me. An age-old ache to be a mother that she hasn't felt since she lost William. (William, Jackson, their grown-up son who is still a child, who she prays will come home soon.) It will be so, so hard if it's true, at their age, with everything they've been through. She can't fool herself into thinking it's going to be easy, and the idea of it terrifies her, but a small part of her really does want this.

She tells herself she might be overthinking it. She tells herself it might not even be real, might not be happening. 

The timer on her phone begins to go off. She turns it off with the flat of her thumb. Takes a deep breath and reaches for the first time. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees it, the little pink plus sign. The four more little pink plus signs. 

Tears suddenly blur her vision; she rests her forehead against his knees again. She suddenly feels alone, incredibly alone; she should've told Mulder. She wants for him to be here more than anything right now. She's cold on this disgusting drug store bathroom floor, and she is  _ pregnant _ . It should be impossible, but here she is.

She has absolutely no idea what to do next. 

\---

A few days after it's all over, after Scully's more or less confirmed that William is alive and after she's told him that she's pregnant, they go to the hospital to check in on Skinner, but also largely to confirm the pregnancy. They've both been in a sort of haze, a strange state of partial denial and partial acknowledgement. Scully slept a lot, the repaired snow globe she stole from Jackson's room cradled in her palm. Mulder slept a lot, too (although not as much), curled up beside her; he woke up one morning with his hand over Scully's stomach, shivered and rubbed his nose underneath her ear. He can't quite believe it, the idea that they could be parents again. That is why they are here, to find out if it's really happening; Scully insisted and Mulder is inclined to agree.

They do a blood test; Scully insists. Mulder sits beside her and holds her hand, squeezes her tangle of fingers. He kisses the back of her hand as the doctor leaves with the sample. “It's gonna be okay, Scully,” he mumbles, holding her hand against his cheek. “I promise, it's gonna be okay.”

Scully gives him a look full of affection, brushes her thumb over his mouth. “I love you,” she says softly, her gaze shifting to the ground. She presses her hand against his cheek, emits a brief, bitter laugh. “I don't know what the hell I'd do without you. If you were… gone again.”

He leans forward to press a slow kiss to her forehead. “I love you, too,” he whispers. “And I swear to God I'm not leaving you this time. No matter what happens.”

She leans forward and wraps her arms around his neck tightly. Kisses his cheek and quietly excuses herself. 

She's gone for a lot longer than he'd expected, long enough that his apprehension over the possibility of being a father again (at  _ fifty-seven _ , no less, Jesus) turns to worry for her. But just as he's preparing to go after her, she re-enters, her face somewhere between hard and apprehensive. She sits back on the exam table, and he reaches out and takes her hand again. She squeezes hard, almost painfully. 

The doctor comes back a few moments later, a clinical look on her face. She opens her mouth to say something, but Scully is already rising to her feet and snatching the file away before she can speak. She flips open the file and scans the inside, and Mulder knows as soon as he sees the shift in her expression. She sits back down on the exam table with a thump, as if she'd had the rug pulled out from under her. “I'm pregnant,” she whispers. 

Mulder's breath stutters at that, chest freezing, and he stands immediately and reaches for her, a hand on her shoulder, an attempt to anchor her. Scully's hands are quivering; she shoves the file back at the doctor like it's a dangerous thing. 

“We’ll need an ultrasound to confirm it, but we're estimating that you're a couple months along,” the doctor says kindly, and Mulder remembers suddenly that she is Scully's friend, she's probably the best they could hope for in terms of a doctor to help them through this. (He hopes, he hopes that she is; he won't put Scully or his unborn child in danger, not again. [And then he catches himself and has to reconsider, because _ unborn child _ , Jesus Christ. They haven't done this in years, and he was gone for so many things with William that he wouldn't even know how.]) 

“Now, I know this is unexpected,” the doctor says carefully. “And there are risks associated with late-in-life pregnancies, such as…” 

“I know the risks,” Scully snaps. “I don't want to speculate, I want to know for sure. We need to do an ultrasound, and we need to find out for sure if we're both okay.” Her voice is fierce, protective, and Mulder notices suddenly that her hand is pressed to her stomach. “I need to know before we can move forward.”

Mulder's hand tightens on her shoulder instinctively as he nods his agreement. 

The doctor nods, her face full of sympathy. “I’ll get it ready,” she says, turning to head out of the room. She pauses, turning back around to face them. “Dana, I know you're scared. And you have a lot of different options getting forward. But for the record… you're perfectly healthy. You're strong. I think that if everything comes out all right on your tests, we could approach this with a… cautious optimism.”

Scully's hand is still over her stomach, fingers spread. “That's the hope,” she says in a hard voice. Weak, Mulder presses his cheek against her hair. He loves her so much that it nearly hurts, and he feels a new, fledgling love for the small life inside her. He prays that everything will be okay because he doesn't know what the hell he'll do otherwise.

As soon as the doctor is gone, Scully moves backwards on the table, lying back on the table, the way Mulder remembers from the ultrasound he'd gone along to back in 2001. She folds her shirt up and away from her abdomen before settling back down, pressing her hand back against her bare skin. She sniffles a little, reaching up with her free hand and wiping her eyes. 

Mulder stands behind the table, near her head, and wraps an arm awkwardly around her. He presses a kiss to her head, reaches down to cover her hand with his over her abdomen. He wants to cry himself. 

She scoots up and into him, still sniffling. “I don't know if I can do this again, Mulder,” she says softly. “How can we do this? It's too risky at our age, it's too risky for the baby… And how can we protect another child? How can we answer all the questions they'll have about their life, their parents, their brother…” She breaks off in the middle of that sentence, voice shaking. 

Tears well in his eyes at the mention of Jackson, his son. He pushes back his new rush of emotion, rubs a faint circle on her abdomen with his thumb. “I know,” he says shakily, reaching down and placing his other hand there. “I know, Scully.” 

Scully asks, with a touch of fear in her voice, “Do you think we can do this?”

Mulder swallows back his fear, his worry, and kisses her head, lingeringly. He nods, his nose against her scalp. If he's learned anything over the years, it's that the two of them can withstand a lot. They can do this; as much as it scares him, he really believes that. 

The doctor returns shortly, begins the process of the ultrasound. They both watch the monitor. The doctor moves the wand over Scully's stomach. Mulder waits, breathless, until he hears the strange pulsing of the baby's heartbeat echoing through the room and has to hire back a gasp. He thinks it might be one of the most beautiful sounds he's ever heard.

Scully's eyes are screwed shut, her breathing tremulous. “Is it okay?” she whispers. “The baby?”

“I'll have to look over this some more,” says the doctor. “But everything looks fine.” 

Scully lets out a little gasping breath. Mulder is watching the screen still, his eyes glued to it. “Scully?” he whispers, touching the side of her face gently. “Scully, where…” He can't see the baby on the screen.

Scully opens her eyes and points out a spot on the screen. “There,” she says. “Right there.” It sounds like she is crying. 

\---

“Do you want this?” he asks two nights later, in bed. He went out earlier to meet with Kersh, to more or less confirm that they are fired, and came home with three boxes of the caffeine-free tea that Scully loves (the kind he remembers her drinking when she was pregnant with William) and a stuffed cat he'd thought was cute. She'd burst into tears as soon as she saw it, and hadn't said much more about it beside, “Hormones,” as she waved off his attempts at comfort. 

Now she rolls over and burrows into him, her head buried in his neck. “It's… it's not what I would've chosen for myself,” she admits muffedly. “Not now. Maybe years ago… but… I don't know, Mulder.” She kisses the hollow of his throat softly. “I… yes. I do. I can't  _ not _ . Mulder, I can't lose another child.”

“I know,” he says, palming the back of her head. He can't lose another child, either. The thought is unimaginable. (He still has nightmares, sometimes, about his son's dead body, the gunshot that apparently didn't kill him. He feels like he can't believe Scully that William is alive, not until he sees it for himself—not because he doesn't trust Scully, doesn't trust their connection, but. Because she didn't see him falling into the water, didn't hear the gunshots.)

The truth is, as much as he already loves this child of his,  _ their  _ child, he is terrified of something like that happening to the baby someday. The fear that he can't protect anyone—not his wife, not his son, not his sister or his mother or his friends. Not this child. Nobody. 

“Do  _ you _ want this?” Scully asks carefully, tremulously. She pulls back to look him in the eye, her face shadowy in the dark bedroom. Her eyes are full of question, maybe even nervousness. She presses her hand to the side of his face in an anxious sort of way.

He leans down and presses his forehead to hers, pushing her hair back. “It scares me to death, Scully,” he says. “It really does.” He bumps their noses together, kisses her mouth gently. “But I do,” he says against her lips. “I do want this.”

“It might not happen,” Scully mumbles, moving back to tuck her head into his shoulder. Hiding her face. “There's a lot of risks associated with pregnancies at my age, Mulder. The chances of actually carrying to term…” 

“I know. Honey, I know.” He kisses her cheek, the corner of her eye, slips a hand down to rest heavy over her stomach. “But it's going to be okay,” he says softly. “I promise you that it'll be okay, no matter what.”

Tears well in her eyes again, and she folds her arms around his neck. “You're here, Mulder,” she says roughly. “I can't believe that you're here this time.” 

He hugs her back tightly, lifting her a little until she's curled in his lap. “I'm not going anywhere,” he murmurs into her hair. “I won't leave you again. Never again.”

They fall asleep at some point after that, wrapped up in quilts and in each other. Mulder doesn't remember falling asleep, but Scully is gone when he wakes up. When he goes downstairs, he finds her at the kitchen table, eating a bagel and drinking her tea. She smiles wobbily when she sees him.

On the fridge, she's tacked up the ultrasound picture with a magnet. 

\---

Morning sickness. Fatigue so bad that she drifted in and out of sleep for days. Mood swings that leave her eager and excited one minute, tense and angry the next, weepy and withdrawn the next. A strict diet in an attempt to remain healthy. Frequent doctor appointments. Mulder is there for it all. 

Surprising to them both—but especially to Scully—everything seems to be fine. She's closely monitoring any symptoms, any possible issues, but any scares are rare to none; the baby's heartbeat remains strong and steady every time they have an ultrasound. Incredibly enough, this pregnancy seems to be easier than her first one with William, likely because she doesn't have the added stress of abductions and funerals and working in the field and multiple injuries. The symptoms are more painful, sure, considering her age, but the lack of physical activity and stress makes a real difference. Even the stress of not knowing where their son is, not knowing if he's alive, is relieved shortly after they find out she is pregnant. He shows up on their doorstep, asking for favors, and Scully doesn't care one bit, she's so relieved he's alive. He's not staying with them, but he's okay, and they know where he is now, and it's okay for now. 

At eighteen weeks, she's started to visibly show, a small bump under her layers of Mulder’s sweatshirts. (It's already mid-spring, and Mulder is constantly teasing her about always being way too cold,  _ unreasonably _ cold even when it's getting warm outside, and she just rolls her eyes.) They're both on the couch reading, Scully growing tired enough that the words have started to swim around on the page, and she's about to suggest they go upstairs to bed when she feels a strange fluttering in her abdomen. She dismisses it as indigestion at first, until it happens again. And again. And that's when she realizes, when she remembers this feeling from years ago. 

Excitement suddenly springs loose, in the pit of her belly, and she lets the book fall to the couch, pressing her hand to the spot. She feels a little phantom foot push back against her palm. She smiles, unable to help it; that is their _ child _ in there. Despite her guilt over what happened the last time she had a child, despite her fear that she will lose this baby, despite her regret that it has happened this late in life, she can't help but love this child tremendously. Can't help but be excited, just a little excited. 

And Mulder. Mulder is here this time. 

“Mulder,” she says softly, hand still over the baby. 

“Mmm.” He's still absorbed in his book, some new release about Bigfoot theories. 

She resists the urge to roll her eyes and nudges his shoulder. “Mulder, you have to feel this,” she says. 

He looks up from his book, startled, his eyes immediately shifting to her abdomen. “Feel… is it… is the baby kicking?” 

She nods, and his eyes light up. He reaches out to touch her stomach, hand landing on the wrong spot, and she reaches out to guide it to the right one. She can feel the baby kicking at his hand, and she really does want to cry now. The smile spreading across his face means everything in the world to her. 

“Oh my god,” he says softly. He leans down and kisses the round swell, strokes the spot. She laughs a little, unable to help it. He laughs, too, both hands there now. “She's kicking so much,” he says with awe. “Are they supposed to kick this much?”

Scully sifts her fingers through her hair, loving the feeling of his hands on her stomach. Years ago, she'd craved his presence like a good cigarette, and now he is just unquestionably here. “It's perfectly normal,” she says, her voice warm with affection. “Although you might be disappointed when she turns out to love soccer instead of basketball or baseball.” 

“I can learn to love soccer,” Mulder says, kissing the spot again. “Hi, baby,” he whispers, and she feels the flutter of movement again. “How you doing in there?” The baby kicks again in answer.

Scully grins a little, rubs her hand over her stomach. Mulder wraps his arms tight around her waist, cheek against her stomach. “I love you,” he says, and Scully strokes the top of his head again. 

“Which one of us are you talking to?” she asks, amused. 

He looks up at her, his eyes dark. “Both of you,” he says. “I love you both so much.”

She seizes a handful of his t-shirt and pulls him up until they're nose to nose. Kisses him sweetly. “C’mon,” she says, pushing hair off of his forehead. “Let's go to bed.” 

Mulder eases away from her as she climbs to her feet. “You said 'she’,” he says. “Earlier, about the baby.”

“I did?” Scully smooths the sweatshirt, picks up her book and closes it, setting on the coffee table. “It was a slip. Besides, I think you said 'she’ first, Mulder.” 

He shrugs a little, setting his book down next to hers. “Maybe I did.” He grins a little. “Is she still moving around in there?”

“Still active. I can tell she inherited your insomnia.”

“Lucky you.” He wraps his arms around her from behind and squeezes her briefly, kisses the side of her neck. She leans into him for a moment before reaching down and taking his hand and tugging him towards the stairs, because she really is exhausted. 

Later, when they go to the doctor for another check-up and are asked if they want to know the gender, they say yes. And they were right. It's a girl. 

\---

Jackson starts visiting them intermittently, staying with them for a night here or a weekend there. It's a shock, but a pleasant one, and Scully almost cries every time she goes around the corner and finds their son. She loves getting the chance to know him, after all this time, the chance to spend time with him. Her baby. She and Mulder are both treading lightly in an attempt not to scare him away, but she can tell that Mulder is just as relieved that he is here. 

He hasn't actually brought up the baby, but Scully knows that he's noticed; she saw his face the first time he showed up, the surprise that he immediately scrambled to cover up. She's starting to think he'll never bring it up—which she'd be fine with, if only because she doesn't want to explain to the child she gave up about the child she is keeping, assuming everything goes okay. (She's explained why she gave him up, and she thinks that he understands, hopes that he knows how much she regrets it, but she still feel rushes of guilt whenever they're eating a meal with Jackson and she sees the ultrasound photos on the fridge. What kind of mother is she, putting the reality of her new baby in the face of the baby she gave away?) But the avoidance of the topic doesn't last forever. 

They're eating breakfast one morning, just Scully and Jackson, since Mulder's driven into the city to visit Skinner. Scully's eating her toast, mentally calculating her plans for the rest of her meals, when Jackson speaks, says, “So. You're pregnant.”

Scully jumps a little, her toast falling back onto the plate. She reaches down absently and touches the swell of her stomach, replying, “Yes,” gingerly. She laughs a little, sheepishly, adding before she can think about it, “I’m surprised you didn’t already know.”

Jackson makes a surprised choking sound, and Scully is immediately berating herself for bringing that up. “What do you mean?”

She looks away with chagrin, the back of her neck turning red. “Oh, uh… I read your blog.” The baby kicks under her fingertips; Scully wonders absently if she can feel her embarrassment, her nervousness at interacting with Jackson.

There's a few long beats of silence before Jackson clarifies, “Can’t really control what I see and don’t see. Not an exact science.”

Scully wants to laugh at that. He almost sounds like Mulder. “Oh,” she says.  “Well, yes. I'm…” She falters, amends, “We’re having a baby, if all goes well.” Jackson looks a little uncomfortable, a little lost in his thoughts; she presses her hand harder against her stomach, feeling the baby kicking. She adds, “It was… a little unexpected, but… we’re trying to prepare for it the best we can,” because it's true.

“Are you excited?” Jackson asks, and the question throws her off because she knows what he is asking. 

“Yes,” Scully says softly, hoping that Jackson knows what she really means. She rubs a circle across her stomach. “We are.”

Jackson looks back over at her, his expression unreadable. Scully lets her hand fall to her side, watching him guardedly. He's just looking at her, and then she feels the sudden push of his mind against hers. He's searching for something; she can't tell what it is, but then she senses a sudden other presence. A smaller, more innocent presence that pushes back. Jackson's trying to hear the baby. 

It's such a wild thing, the idea of her children somehow telepathically communicating, and she's trying to process it when Jackson grins suddenly. Scully feels the fluttering of the baby's mind, the small innocence of it, before it withdraws. 

“Boy or girl?” Jackson asks. “Or do you know?”

“Girl,” says Scully, smiling again as she brings her hand back to her stomach. And that is that. 

Jackson remains an unpredictable presence in their household, and they never really know when he's going to show up, but whenever he's there, for however long he's there, he always asks about the baby at least one. He calls her  _ the kid _ usually, brings it up in an offhand manner with a nonchalance Scully envies. One time, he says, “I always wanted a little sister when I was a kid,” and Scully can't avoid the surge of tears that follows that. She cries at everything now, and she hates it. At least Jackson is supportive; he wordlessly hands her tissues, sometimes even lets her hug him. Sometimes even hugs her first, looking for comfort that she is all too willing to give. (He's still haunted by the death of his parents, the way his old life seemed to crumble and decay, and she can tell that falling into a life with them is hard for him. They take it one day at a time.)

Somewhere around twenty-five or twenty-six weeks, Scully begins to have cramps. It's not severe, the doctor eventually confirms, and looking back on it, Scully realizes she should've known it wasn't severe. But her initial reaction is panic, of  _ course _ , because she's already so on edge, so worried that she'll never get to meet her daughter… She tries to tell Mulder that it might not be serious when she wakes him up in the middle of the night, but her voice is so choked and panicked that Mulder immediately insists they go to the hospital. “Just to see if everything’s okay,” he says, and Scully immediately nods with relief; she has to know for sure. 

They go downstairs together, and Scully sits on the couch while Mulder goes out to start the car. She slumps into the couch, shivering a little in the heat of the summer, presses a hand to her stomach and offers up a quick prayer. 

“Dana?”

She opens her eyes and sees Jackson hovering at the edge of the room. “Is everything okay?”

“Jackson,” she says, biting back a wince as a cramp bites through her. “It's… I'm fine…” But she doesn't sound believable even to herself. 

Jackson comes over carefully and sits beside her, a hand resting anxiously on his knee, pointed towards her like a peace offering. “What's wrong?” he asks carefully. 

“Cramping,” Scully says with gritted teeth. She hates to ask, but she has to know, and she still remembers, vividly, the way she felt her children's minds meet, the way she could hear them. She hates to ask, but she meets his eyes, dark in the lampless living room, and says softly, “Do you think you could… Can you hear her?” Her voice breaks a little. 

Jackson's brow furrows a little, like he's concentrating, like he's worried. And then something like understanding seems to pass over him. Relief. “I can hear her,” he says softly, relievedly. “I think… I really think she's okay.” 

Scully believes him. She doesn't know why, but a part of her just… knows. The panic dulls; it doesn't fade completely, but when they tell her that it's nothing, that they're both fine, she can't help but feel like she already knew that, somewhere, deep down. Like somehow, she just knew, the way she just knew that Jackson was alive. She feels, somehow, more connected to her daughter than she ever has. 

\---

It's not always perfect, not by a long shot. It hits Mulder every now and then: he is at the age of retirement, and he's about to be a new parent—up every night when he is already tired, a jungle gym for a toddler when his back and knees already feel like they're constantly about to give out, having to pay for a college fund without actually having a job. And he knows it is ten times worse for Scully; she's the one who actually has to carry the baby. She's constantly in pain, constantly tired or nauseous or irritable or emotional. And she is terrified of something happening to her during childbirth, of something happening to the baby, of someone coming for the baby the way they can't for Jackson, and Mulder doesn't blame her. There has been so much tragedy and so many lost children between the two of them that it's understandable that they're spooked. They both have nightmares a lot; Scully is rabidly possessive of him at times, reminding him that the last time they had a child, she was pregnant and buried. 

It helps that Jackson is there, still sporadically even after he's officially moved in, but still a semi-constant presence. It helps that he is supportive, offers up his opinion on baby names or toys, buys the baby a blanket with a pattern of stars on it. It helps. 

But it's impossible not to express their fears, every now and then. Scully breaks off into tears sometimes, grows silent and worried and stiff with irritation. “How can we do this?” she says softly to Mulder one night, fear in her voice. “How the hell can we do this, Mulder? How the hell are we going to do this?”

He doesn't know. He never has an answer for her. But he knows that they will. Because they don't have a choice. Because they already have the nursery, all ready and painted (with Jackson's assistance). Because they've already got a list of name ideas that they always end up bickering over. Because Mulder sees the ultrasound photo every morning when he goes down into the kitchen and feels the same rush of affection every time. Because they love her, their unborn daughter, and they have no choice but to love her. 

Because Scully will be an amazing mother. The way she was with Emily, the way she was and is with Jackson. (They're getting closer every day; Mulder keeps catching the two of them talking or arguing over some classic movie or reading books they've suggested to each other.) And, after everything, Mulder still wants to be a father. 

It's not a second chance, because he doesn't want to call it that; it feels too dismissive of William. But it is something. It's their chance at a family. The four of them. 

\---

They have a C-section planned, an appointment made, everything plotted to a T. Everything is supposed to happen as scheduled. But Scully's water breaks two weeks early. 

Scully's initial reaction is panic, of course. She rattles off the risks associated, the statistics of developmental issues or her lungs not being fully developed; she seizes his arm in a tight hold, knuckles turning white against his sleeve, and doesn't let go. “We can't do this yet, Mulder,” she grits out through clenched teeth as a contraction hits her. “Not yet, 's too soon, she's not ready. I can't do this.”

Mulder remains calm, somehow; he doesn't know how the hell he does, but he does. Jackson is gone, off doing whatever he does when he's gone, so he doesn't have to worry about him being stuck here, and there is no one else to call, so he just focuses in on Scully, gives her his jacket as he helps her out to the car, strokes her hair and murmurs comforting things, drives her to the hospital with improbably steady hands. He's going to hang on, and he's going to keep it together for them. His girls. He loves them so much that it hurts, and he can't even consider the idea that they won't both come home with him. 

The hospital is a short drive, luckily, and so they get there within good time. Scully seizes his arm as soon as he comes around to get her out of the car, hand clenched tight, and doesn't let go. Not when they get into the hospital, not when she lowers herself into a wheelchair. Only briefly when she changes into a hospital gown and climbs into the hospital bed, and then she's grasping for him again. He takes her hand, doesn't complain when she squeezes so hard that the bones ache. He hates that he wasn't there before to let her crush his hand. “Don't leave us,” Scully hisses, and Mulder rubs his thumb over the top of her hand, kisses the back of it. “I won't,” he promises, pressing his cheek to the side of her head. 

“It's too soon,” Scully says once again, bits it out through clenched teeth, and Mulder pulls away to look at her. Her face is white, her eyes full of pain and panic, and she still has a death grip on his hand. Her other hand is pressed to the swell of her stomach in a protective sort of way. She moans as the contraction hits her. “I can't do this, Mulder,” she hisses through it, tears welling in her eyes. 

“It's okay,” Mulder whispers, his free hand on the side of her head. He has to believe that it'll be okay. He kisses the top of her head gently. “It's gonna be okay, Scully.”

“Not yet, I can't do this yet. It's too  _ soon _ .” She shuts her eyes briefly, presses her hand harder against her stomach. “She's not ready, I can't do this, not until she's ready.”

“She's gonna be just fine,” Mulder promises. And in that moment, he really, really believes that. “You both are. You're both going to be fine.”

“You don't know that,” she whispers.

“I do.” He kisses her cheek, her nose, the side of her mouth. “I know it, Scully. I just know it. I can't explain it, but I do.”

She sniffles, letting her head fall heavily against his chest. “I love you,” she says. “I love you so much, Mulder. No matter what happens…”

“I love you, too,” he says, stroking her hair with the flat of his thumb. “It's gonna be okay, Scully.”

A contraction hits her like a wave and she cries out. He helps her breathe through it, holds her hand tightly and doesn't let go. 

\---

Their daughter is born in a heartbeat moment. A rush. It happens so fast that Scully feels as though she almost missed it. 

She doesn't remember much from the moments after—fatigued and nearly unconscious from blood loss—but there is one thing she never forgets: the sound of her daughter's first healthy cry. The image of the tiny baby being held up before her. She holds onto it for as long as she lives.

\---

Their daughter half-dozes, a small, warm being curled against his bare chest. Her nose is tiny, her hair as dark as her brother's and her eyes the bright blue of her mother, and Mulder loves her with everything in him.

Scully's been in recovery for hours as a result of blood loss; she hasn't seen the baby yet. He was genuinely torn between whether to stay with Scully or stay with the baby, but Scully, in an extraordinary amount of pain and worry, had mumbled firmly, “Go with her,” as she faded into unconsciousness. She was dim and groggy, but her eyes were filled with a fierce love, a stern commanding. And so Mulder went, his heart pounding, his eyes glued to the tiny baby in the nurse’s hands, grateful that he didn't have to leave this tiny being all alone even as he's reluctant to leave Scully. They let him cut the cord, they let him follow them as they checked the baby's vitals, the state of her lungs, as they put her in the nursery. He'd hovered outside the window, torn between going to sit with his wife and staying with their daughter, but Scully's words were enough to make him stay. 

So he stays, paces outside the nursery window, locates his baby among the cluster of infants, presses his hand to the glass when no one is watching. The too-small bundle of his daughter, sleeping with a pink beanie on her head behind the window of a nursery. Somehow, he already misses her. And then the nurses had asked him to do skin-to-skin, in an attempt to keep her temperature up. 

She's so small. She's too small. But her eyes are as blue as Scully's, and Mulder senses that she is strong. It runs in the family. She is fine and Scully, the doctor told him, will be fine with plenty of rest, although she's still unconscious. They're both fine, and Mulder would officially never like to leave either of them either again. 

He holds their daughter against his chest, skin against skin, his hand cupping her small head. She yawns, a small sound, and he strokes her forehead with one finger, gently. He runs a finger down her arm, and she grabs onto the finger with her entire hand. Tears spring to his eyes, and he leans forward to press a light kiss to her forehead. “Hey, kiddo,” he whispers, so only she can hear. “Hey, baby. You made it. You're here.” She looks up at him with a touch of—he swears it—curiosity in her eyes, and he grins. “I'm your dad,” he says softly. 

He holds his daughter until she falls asleep, until the nurses come to take her back to the nursery. And even then, he doesn't leave. He desperately wants to go check on Scully, but she told him to stay with the baby and he's not willing to leave. And so he waits, until a nurse comes to find him, tells him that his wife is awake and he can take the baby to meet her now. 

\---

Scully is sitting up in bed, propped up on several pillows, when they enter. “Mulder,” she blurts when she sees him, struggling to sit up straighter. 

“Are you okay?” Mulder asks immediately, because leaving her was nearly impossible and he has to know. “How do you feel?”

“Fine, fine,” Scully says impatiently. “Is… is that…” She can't finish, words caught in her throat. 

Mulder follows her line of sight to the infant in his arms, and he wants to cry. Here they are, they're all okay and they're all together, and none of them are going anywhere. “Scully,” he says, pushing past the blankets with one finger to brush the baby's face. “I want you to meet your daughter.”

“She's okay?” Scully's voice is rusty from disuse and she is too pale, but she is alive, okay, and her eyes are only for the baby curled in his arms. She reaches out unconsciously, desperately. “She's not… she's okay?”

“She's okay,” says Mulder, his voice unsteady. “She's just fine, honey. She's perfect.” He leans over the bed and kisses Scully on the forehead before lowering the baby into her arms. 

Scully's eyes are wide and fearful as she looks down at her daughter, tentatively nudging the blanket away from her face as she cradles her close. The baby blinks up at her mother, eyes huge and blue; she uncurls her fingers and reaches up to touch Scully's hair. "She looks so small,” Scully whispers, stroking the baby's cheek with one finger, and promptly bursts into tears. “How did she get so small?”

“She takes after her mother,” Mulder says, a lump rising in his own throat. He’s going to cry too, goddamnit. Watching them together makes something swell up in his chest, makes him want to wrap his arms around them and never let go. He wishes that Jackson was here for this. 

Scully looks up at him, her eyes wet and shining. “Shut up,” she murmurs tearfully, laughing a little, and motions to the bed with her chin. He sits beside her gingerly, and Scully leans back into him. He rests his chin on her shoulder, reaching down to touch the baby's tiny hand in her hair.

“She's so beautiful,” Scully says, her voice shaking with sobs. Mulder wraps his arms around her from behind, just under where she cradles the baby, and kisses the side of her neck gently. “I was so scared I would lose her, like…” Her voice breaks off, fades out into gaspy breaths. Mulder kisses her again, again, his arms tightening around her. She kisses the baby's little forehead gently; the baby fusses, just a little, and Scully makes soft soothing sounds through her tears. “Oh, honey, it's okay,” she whispers. “It's okay.” 

Mulder lets Scully cry, wrapped up in his arms and cradling the baby. He leans forward, brushes his lips over the baby's furrowed forehead and cups her downy head in his palm. Scully tugs the blanket until it is covering them both, leans back half into the pillows and half into him. He keeps an arm wrapped around her, touches the baby's hand. “She really is beautiful,” he says. 

“She's perfect,” Scully sniffles, echoing his earlier sentiment. “She's worth it. She's _ more _ than worth it. Mulder, I love her so much.” She runs a finger gently down the bridge of the baby's nose, and the baby yawns, nestling her face against Scully's hospital gown. 

“I stayed with her,” Mulder says. “I didn't want to leave her alone,” he'd said later. “I didn't want to leave either of you alone. Scully, she's so  _ small _ .”

“I think I was the one to point that one out first,” Scully says, tickling the bottom of the baby's foot lightly. She's smiling a little, contentedly. “You were right, you know.”

Mulder blinks in surprise, turning his head to face her. “What?”

“When you told me that we could do this. When you told me that everything was going to be okay.” The baby is nearly asleep now, her mouth sweetly slack, and Scully is looking at her, the shape of her face and the faint freckles across her nose. 

“ _ Scully _ ,” says Mulder, his voice filled with amusement. “Did you just tell me I was right?”

“Yeah, why…” She looks up at him, and upon seeing his smirk, rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“Two miracles in one day,” Mulder jokes. “Not a bad track record.”

Scully rolls her eyes again, punching him lightly on the shoulder. They settle back into their cocoon together, their eyes glued to the infant sleeping in her mother's arms. 

“We're going to be okay, aren't we?” Scully asks suddenly, and Mulder knows she's referring to more than the baby. She's referring to the rest of their lives, the conspiracy that ruined much of it, and their son, and each other. To their whole family. 

Mulder kisses the side of her head, thinking that it feels like he has never loved Dana Scully more than he does right now. “We are,” he says assuredly. “We're gonna be just fine.”

\---

Scully can honestly say she doesn't remember the last time she was this at peace. 

They're all sitting in the living room, she and Mulder and Jackson and the baby. A movie’s on TV, but she knows that neither she or Mulder are watching that. They're watching their children, together not for the first time (and hopefully not for the last), but the fact that it's not the first doesn't seem to diminish the marvel of it. 

Jackson got home the day they brought the baby home, and he seemed almost frightened of the baby at first, but since then he's seemed to grown more at ease with it. He even loves her, Scully likes to think—he seems to love his sister. Two nights ago, she'd kept them all up half the night crying, and Jackson had seemed the most sane out of all of them (“Kids,” Mulder had growled irritably when they finally got to bed around two a.m.), started calling the baby Banshee in an affectionate sort of way. It's stuck, more or less, but the lack of a name is starting to make the nickname glaringly silly.

The fact that they still haven't come up with a name after a week and a half (and seven previous months of consideration) feels equally silly. But they just can't agree on anything. They'd agreed that they shouldn't name the baby after anyone, if only so she wouldn't have to carry that weight, and they haven't been able to agree on anything else. Mulder has a theory that they'll know the right name when they hear it. Scully has a feeling that the baby will be permanently known as Banshee if they don't come up with something soon. 

“So still no name yet?” Jackson asks now, letting the baby tug at one finger. 

_ It's like he read my mind,  _ Scully thinks bemusedly, and then realizes he really might have. “No, not yet, unfortunately,” she says with a yawn. 

Mulder rubs a hand over his chin, gets to his feet to take the baby from Jackson as he stands. “You have any ideas?” he asks, cradling the baby in the crook of one arm. 

Jackson shrugs as he turns towards the kitchen. “Not really,” he says over his shoulder, going into the other room. They hear the fridge open. “I've always liked the name Lily,” he offers. The fridge closes. 

Mulder raises his eyebrows at Scully, rocking the baby back and forth a little. “Lily?” Scully asks. 

Jackson nods, reentering with a can of Coke in hand. “Yeah, when my, uh… when my parents were trying to adopt another baby, and they asked my opinion on names, I said Lily for a girl. I was like five or six, and there was a book I liked with that name in it, so I thought it'd be cool to have a sister with the same name.” He shrugs. “Just a suggestion.”

Scully meets Mulder's eyes over top of the baby's head—she’s fallen asleep on his shoulder, fingers stuck in her mouth. He has the same look that she does. “I like that,” she says. 

Jackson raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

“I do. It's cute.” Scully smiles a little. “What do you think, Mulder?”

“I like it, too.” He sways back and forth with the baby, offers Jackson a grin. “It's probably better than Banshee.”

Jackson snorts, popping the tab on his soda. “Banshee would be an awesome name,” he says, and Scully stifles a laugh. “But Lily's good,” he adds, tickling the bottom of the baby's foot before sitting back now. “If you guys like it.”

Scully meets Mulder's eyes again, questioningly, and he nods. “I think we do,” she says softly, and makes a mental note to have Mulder go and fill out the birth certificate tomorrow. They have a couple of middle name ideas that would go well with Lily. 

Mulder is now murmuring to the baby, his hand large on her back. “Hey, Lily,” he says softly, and Jackson smirks a little. Scully smiles, too. 

“I should probably put her down,” she says softly as she gets to her feet. She relishes the few hours of peace and quiet she'll have before the baby wakes them up crying. Mulder passes her Lily gently, miraculously managing not to wake her up, and Scully shuffles her against her shoulder, relishing the weight of her daughter. “Hi, sweetie,” she whispers, lips brushing over her head; Lily makes a small sound, but doesn't wake up. 

“You should get some sleep,” Mulder says, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. 

“Sleep while I can,” Scully says with a grimace. “Goodnight, Jackson,” she adds, looking over at their son with his unkempt hair and equally unkempt clothes, who has already finished his soda. (He eats like a horse.) It still feels incredible that he's here.

Jackson smiles a little, and it means everything to her. “Night, Dana,” he says. “Night, Lily. See you in a few hours.” 

“Easy for you to say,” says Mulder. “You don't have to get up for it.”

“I don't want complaints from either of you, seeing as how I'm the only one who  _ really _ has to get up,” Scully says in a falsely sweet voice to the top of the baby's head.

Mulder shoots her an apologetic look, thumbs hair away from her face and says, “I can take the next shift. And the one after that.”

“Insomniac advantage,” says Scully, kissing him briskly. “Thank you.” Jackson politely ignores their displays of affection, and Lily sleeps on. Mulder leans down and kisses the top of the baby's head, and then Scully turns to take her upstairs. 

She puts Lily down in the crib in their room, places a hand over her stomach. She can feel her breathing. She likes having her close, likes being able to be right there if anything happens. It's been a full week, and Mulder is still here, and they all still are together. She feels more at peace than she has in years, and she loves the three people in this house with her more than anything else.

In times where they are alone like this, Scully and her daughter, it's hard not to remember that first moment when she realized, sitting on the floor of a Walgreens bathroom. When she hadn't known what the hell she was going to do, but she knew she was going to keep the baby. And now it all seems to make sense, all of it. As difficult as it's been, as difficult as the next eighteen years are going to be, she's grateful for Lily. Grateful she's gotten the chance to know her, to raise her. She's worth it; just as she'd said in the hospital before, Lily is worth all of it. 

“Night, Lily,” she says softly, kisses the tip of one finger and brushes it over Lily's forehead. She spares one last look for her slumbering baby. And then she climbs into bed to grab a few solid hours of sleep.


End file.
